In the light there lives
sorry and in the dark
exists hate, and you live
in both places, while I
live in the terrible grey.
Is the dark consuming you
and sucking up the light?
I live in the spaces between,
too afraid of both, not wanting
to feel the sorry of this loss,
and not capable of hate.
I wish, like a child, for colours
again, and life beyond the shades
where the sun casts its yellows
across this troubled place.